THE MEDUSA EFFECT CHAPTER TEN
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-part-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-three
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-four
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-five
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-six
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-seven
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-eight
CHAPTER TEN
PUTTIN ON THE RITZ
The display was revolting. It was all of the social elitism that had plagued Marquette since it first became a vacation destination. Detective Hardy was having a hard time concentrating on the real purpose for his appearance there at the hotel function. He and his deputy’s attendance at the benefit could hardly be mistaken as casual. They were there to spot any irregularities. It was getting under his skin that the whole thing was an event to raise money for an education scholarship in Sylvia’s name. Johnson, took a walk around to the back, detective Hardy knew it was to get to the bottom of the pastries, more than anything. A chocolate bash to honor a dead woman, that was about as ridiculous as it gets.
When the kindergarten school teacher appeared, it made Hardy wince. Mrs. Holtz still had that pained look on her face. She was gaping at the gigantic posters and clutching her sweater to her chest. She looked like she could barely walk on the stiletto shoes she was wearing. Apparently kindergarten did not prepare one for high fashion the way you might think, he laughed to himself. What a joke, a big stupid joke.
The detective thought that either nobody knew each other or they were avoiding speaking to one another. Maybe it was because he was there and they all knew it, but there was an eerie silence throughout the hall. There weren't many other men there, he and Stan stood out like a sore thumb. Usually at these social functions there was a lot of cackling. It was the quietest room full of upper crust women he had ever been in. The majority of the attendees stuck to the perimeter of the room following the path for the silent auction holding their pens in front of them like a shield. When the music piped in a sigh of relief passed through the line of spectators. They nodded approvingly although they appeared to be staring just over the back of each other's heads. The odd cast of characters, all dressed to the hilt, danced slowly around the half empty restaurant making their way to the shrine at the end. A full size rendering of Sylvia Braxton on a quilt was being auctioned off to the highest bidder at noon. This was worth staying for since all the women would have to tip their hands, revealing how much they wanted their sofas to be draped in the visage of the deceased.
Stan walked toward Laurel balancing two plates, one full of Indian tacos and the other full of cake. Since he was the only one eating apparently, he claimed they forced it on him. He tried to get his boss to load up. He said they would really warm up to him if he looked like he was distracted.
"Distracted, huh?" He looked over in surprise at the usually half dazed officer. "You came up with that?"
Johnson shoved the yellow cake into his mouth still trying to answer. Hardy turned his back to him. "They're all drinking the good stuff. There's Two-Hearted back there. That's some good beer." He spit all over the carpeting.
"Please, you're killing me. Oh, what the hell, anything to get away from you." The detective marched back to the bar. The tall glass fit easily into his hand. It put him off to pretend in this way, but the air was stifling. He was burning up. The walls were closing in on him and his idiot partner wasn't helping, stuffing his face like a starving rat.
"Hello detective."
Hardy jumped when the delicate hand slipped onto his shoulder. The familiar voice startled him. "Helen, what the Hell are you doing here? Stan didn't tell me you were coming.” he fumbled awkwardly. I appreciate you showing up and all, but could you keep it on the low down? Talking to me might not be the best thing for you, you know, especially since there's a murderer on the loose."
"I'm one of the organizers, that's how I got you in." She dabbed the corner of her peach gloss embossed lips. "I'm surprised at nothing,” she said with a sigh, “...he didn't tell you? Of course not."
Stan’s wife was one of the best looking librarians Hardy had ever seen. He couldn't guess how someone with her brains could fall for such a moron. He blinked helplessly at her, struggling not to say what was scratching at the back of his throat. He could never get over losing her, especially to him.
"I invited you here because I want you to find out who did this to her."
The way she said it brought him quickly to his senses. There was passion in her voice and suddenly, he saw the same desperate look on everyone's face. They were all in mourning. They had nowhere else to go. They wanted to be there and stand in a room with what was left of her. Hardy couldn't imagine what joined them together. The only one acting strangely was Stan, cramming his mouth full of food like someone having their last meal.
Maybe he was dead wrong or one of them was putting on a pretty good show, but no one seemed like an outsider, until he was given the two items. He set the glass on the tray next to him and raced for the door.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I got a bad feeling.” Hardy took the dishes from Stan and threw the napkin at him, “Wipe your face, we’re getting the hell outta here.”
Stan didn’t argue or even say goodbye to his wife, he walked to the coat room and by the time he made it to the door the cruiser was pulled up, waiting for him.
Hardy turned to him. “We gotta get to the bottom of this. I want you to stick this guest book in your jacket, when we get to headquarters. We’re going to find out how they are all connected.”
“You lifted it?”
“It was given to me.”
“By who?”
“Never mind by who,” he said peeling away from the restaurant. “Just pay attention, I want to know everything about the signatures there. Somebody knows something and we’re going to find out who’s got something to hide, and who is willing to kill for it.”
Johnson nervously licked his fingers all the way back to the station, inviting more than a few comments from his boss.
“Okay Laurel!” He said sullenly.
“What? Are you kidding me?” Laurel asked. “What’s the matter, Laurel?” He said pointedly.
“Look, you only do that when you are trying to annoy me. Are you trying to bug me? First the behavior and now you’re using my first name, like it’s some kind of joke? It is a family name that I am very proud of, but you do not get to call me that, because you are an asshole Stan. Get it?”
“Yes sir.”
Stan held off until they parked. He grumbled under his breath without really making much of an effort to conceal it. His boss ignored him, for the most part. He couldn’t wait to get to his office. He pulled the blinds and hurried his partner inside the dimly lit room. He wheeled the cart to the desk and slipped the DVD into the slot. With the lights off, it became uncomfortable between them in seconds. Laurel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. From nowhere Stan produced a bag of Fun Yuns. Laurel hit the pause button on the remote.
“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”
“What? I’m just hungry, that’s all.”
Hardy saw the stupid mouth hanging open, “How did I get so lucky?”
He turned back on the player. Sylvia was staring at them, her long eyelashes fluttering. She mouthed the words, “Got one on the hook.” In the mirror Hardy could see through the slit in the bathroom door, that there was somebody in the other room.
“Did something just happen there?” The figure from the bed fell forward.
“Maybe she drugged him,” Johnson offered.
They waited anxiously staring at the screen until Sylvia closed the bathroom door completely. She leaned against the counter with her hand against her lips.
“Is she…laughing?”
“It sure as hell looks like it, to me.”
Hardy never figured on this, that Sylvia was a regular criminal. He didn’t want to think it. He had invested a lot in seeing her as a helpless victim. He wanted to be the hero that set things right about her death. He was just about ready to give that all up, when…she finally opened the door. The man was back on the bed. Sylvia leaned over him with her knee on the corner of the mattress. Her finger had a small fob hanging from it that she waved in front of him like he was being hypnotized. Just when he thought they were going to really get started, she dropped it on his lap and walked away.
She leaned over the sink. Hardy could see her face, red as a beet. She swallowed hard like she had lost her breath. She placed her hand on her breast and lowered her head. The long black hair cascaded over her shoulders into the sink. She was sick. She turned on the water and scooped it into her mouth. Before she spit it out, a flash of light streaming from an open door bled into the background. She hurried to finish, scrubbing a rag across her mouth. The last thing the detective saw was the eye of the camera landing on the red smeared rag. It made Hardy feel nauseous.
“Why would someone give this to me?”
“Maybe they wanted you to see what kind of a woman she was.”
“What? Maybe,” Detective Hardy said to Stan, “but this doesn’t actually tell us anything.”
It surprised Hardy to hear the anger in Johnson’s voice, “It tells you she’s a damn whore!”
“How do you figure?” Hardy was desperate to defend her. “Did you see any money exchange hands?”
"Trust me, there was a lot of damn money.”
“And you know this, how?”
Johnson was fuming, “I know the type; you hear things.”
“Illuminate me.” Hardy clicked on the desk lamp.
Stan stared soberly at him, “you know.”
“Apparently, I don’t know anything.”
“C’mon, it’s a damn porno.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Neither did that poor schmuck she lured into the hotel room with a freakin camera, you think that’s right?”
“C'mon Johnson. You're jumping to conclusions.”
“You got to be kidding me.”
“No,” Hardy held up his hand, “I appreciate you taking the man’s side on this, but she didn’t look too happy about the situation. You really have no idea what happened. Maybe she turned her phone on to record because she was scared of Romeo in the next room; you don’t know.”
“You’re wrong about this one.” Johnson gave up finally, standing to his feet. “I have to get my kid at school today, cause of the benefit. Helen can’t pick up my girl.”
“Okay, well, see you on Monday.”
“I could take that video home with me and take another look at it, if you want me too.”
“No, that’s alright. You better go.”
Laurel had him flip on the overhead light on his way out. He felt lost. He couldn’t figure out what was bugging him the most and he wondered if Stan was right, and he didn't like it.